


Taking Your Measure

by Auntvodkacat



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-11
Updated: 2016-10-11
Packaged: 2018-08-21 19:35:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8257927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Auntvodkacat/pseuds/Auntvodkacat
Summary: The Inquisitor, unfortunately, seems to have an image problem. Warning for cotton candy fluff. And dimples.





	

"Darling!" The seamstress shrieked as their eyes met. The middle-aged Orlesian woman charged Morinthe, and for a moment the much smaller elf felt threatened. She was like a gurn, not really in physical size, but in the sheer enormity of her voice and presence. The Inquisitor could only stare wide eyed as the woman grabbed and smushed her face with her chubby fingers. "Absolutely charming, like a little doll! Oh, I've so many designs. You'll look positively adorable!"

"Ahem," Josephine, her savior, interrupted as she emerged from up down the stairs into Morinthe's bedroom. "Madame, as grateful as we are to have your expertise at hand, 'adorable' is not the impression we wish to make upon the court."

Morinthe's hands clenched, every nerve and vertebrae down her spine was stock still. Why was this woman still touching her, crowding her so much that she could barely breath without coughing on perfume?

Vivienne had recommended this tailor, Madame Something or Other, to her in preparation for the ball. All Morinthe had in her armoire was practical wear, for running back and forth about the battlements. While it suited her everyday purposes well enough, it probably wasn't appropriate for the Winter Palace. Morinthe had been foolishly grateful for her help, but now she realized her mistake. Vivienne had always been bitter about her recruitment of the mages, and now her day of reckoning had arrived.

Morinthe could not see Madame's scowl through her hideous, sickly green mask, but her heavy sigh was evidence enough. "Fine, I suppose I can create something more, imposing for the event. I beg, however, that you allow me to craft for you some extra gowns, for another occasion perhaps."

"Perhaps." Leliana cut in. "But for this event the Inquisitor must appear powerful, a force of nature. Can you do it?"

It would be a task indeed. Morinthe was good at what she did, sneaking about and stabbing people in the back when they least expected it. Part of her skill came from her smallness; most focused on the man with horns and a battle axe. They usually overlooked the elf, which was what always got them in the end. For this, though, hiding wouldn't do her any favors. She would be completely out of her element, out in the open among viperous nobles.

"Nightengale, with all of the greatest respects, you insult me," Madame scoffed. "Of course I can."

The next half hour saw Morinthe being measured up down, left and backward. All very humiliating and intrusive, yes, but according to Josephine the feeling of being somewhat violated was pretty normal.

When it was all over and done with, the Madame fled back to her den to mull over her designs, and Morinthe sauntered down to the main hall. She felt stiff and worn out after being scrutinized so closely for the past hour and a half, and her stupid thoughts were buzzing again. A walk around the battlements would help put some air in her lungs and head.

As she passed by that one door, the last on the left, Morinthe paused. Maybe it would be beneficial to vent some, get it out of her skull and into the air so she could forget about it. The two choices left her frozen in place as she considered. She probably looked odd, standing there in the middle of the hallway. If her sources were to be believed, she also got an odd look on her face, eyes narrowed, lips pursed, and nose scrunched to the side, when she was thinking as well. Best to make a decision soon; her allies thought she was crazy enough as it was.

She turned on her heel and marched toward the Rotunda, head held high. All of the snickering nobles knew where she was going, so there was no point in hiding it. What did she have to be ashamed of, anyway?

She was a little more tentative once the door was closed behind her, oddly enough. What if he was busy? It was pretty silly. Would he just be annoyed, think she was acting like a child? Well, he'd never done that before, but her mind still found it a serious possibility regardless.

She'd look like a fool if she turned back now, after the exit she'd made from the hall. Nothing for it, then. Perhaps she could just go for the stairs and think of something to ask Leliana.

She made it halfway to the stairs when she was frozen in place by a word.

"Vhenan?" She actually jumped. Shit, she couldn't just ignore him now, but what if she said something stupid? Of course she'd say something stupid. It was the only thing she never failed to accomplish. Creators, she'd sighed hadn't she, and she was probably making the face again.

As if she was facing a dragon rather than her partner, Morinthe slowly turned to meet his gaze. He was standing by his desk, a book in hand. It was surprisingly thinner than most of the giant skull thick tomes he toted around. They were what filled most of that backpack that he carried on the field. He was going to ruin his back someday if he kept on like that.

Solas frowned like she'd suddenly sprouted three heads and started speaking backwards. For all she knew, she may have. "Is something wrong?"

"Yes." No point in lying, really. She was usually moderately skilled at it, but where her emotions were involved her tells were pitifully easy to spot.

"Is there any way that I can help, then?" He inquired.

"I'm not sure." Morinthe admitted, wringing her hands together. It didn't help much, but Leliana had strictly commanded her to stop chewing her fingernails to bits.

"May I try?" He requested, setting the book face down on his desk. The surface of the desk had scratches on it- how hadn't she noticed that before? He was getting closer now, moving with a perfectly casual and non-threatening gait, and yet she had to fight the urge not to back into the wall.

"If you like," Morinthe replied. Her voice was a little too high, she noted. Solas took her hand and gently lead her over to the couch. She sat down and brought her knees up to her chest, and Morinthe started to play with a lock of her hair. She'd let it grow out too long.

"So," he began. Solas extricated her fingers from her hair and held both of her hands in his lap. Morinthe pouted a little, but she didn't comment. "Did something happen today?"

"The seamstress came today, to take measurements and such." Morinthe explained.

"Ah," he said, raising his brows. "Yes, that can be rather trying."

"Get measured for dresses often, do you?" Morinthe joked, but for a half second his mouth twisted.

He looked away when he answered. "I will also have to dress accordingly for the Winter Palace."

So he'd been at the mercy of Madame Something or Other too. Something about his answer didn't quite click in her head, but she brushed it aside.

"It is not so bad, though. Somewhat uncomfortable, yes, but I feel there is more to this." Solas inferred. He had her hands cupped in his, like a nesting doll.

Morinthe didn't really expect him to leave it at that. It would be overreacting, even for her.

"Some of the things she had to say just started me thinking." Morinthe sighed. "I really shouldn't do that so often."

"I beg to differ," he interjected. Solas lifted up one of her hands and laid a soft kiss to her knuckles. "I am rather fond of your thoughts, scattered as they may be at times."

"Perhaps," Morinthe drawled. "But they can be ever so hard to manage at times, mostly when my nerves start to get wired up. You know, I was talking with some viscount the other evening, and I saw something in his teeth. It was such an odd color that, suddenly, all I could think about was what it could possibly be. Entire scenarios started to play out in my brain in the span of a few seconds, and as a result I spent about two minutes staring at a man's mouth and not listening to a single word he said. I feel like they ought to have gotten someone with a longer attention span to do this Inquisitor business."

"You do not say?" He chuckled.

"What? Oh, wait." Morinthe sighed. "I just did it again, didn't I? See? I'm absolutely hopeless."

"So," Solas said, and he gently grasped her chin so that she'd look at him again. "What about the seamstress made you think too much again?"

"Well," Morinthe grunted, glaring daggers into her pants. "She kept on gushing about how...cute I was the entire time."

He snorted, which she would normally find endearing, but now it only incited a deep scowl.

"Don't laugh at me. I am distraught!" Morinthe demanded.

"Forgive me," He pled, though there was a curl to his lip still. Bastard. "I was not under the impression that was an insult, emma lath."

"No, but," Morinthe huffed, rolling her eyes up to the rookery. "What if I don't want to be just cute? Little girls and kittens are cute. I'm a woman, not a kitten…"

"Well, pouting is not helping your case any." He said, cocking his head to the side. Morinthe quickly righted herself, but this only seemed to further entertain the man. What was making him all smiles today, anyway? "So what if you are more, cherubic in appearance? What does it matter? Your people still follow you unconditionally, and the Inquisition has gained supporters all across Thedas regardless."

"That's true, but," Morinthe began. She wanted to chew her fingernails, like she'd been dragging herself through the Hissing Wastes for a week without water and they were an oasis. Did he know? Most likely, that had to be why he wouldn't let go of them. "Most of that happens because they hear of my actions, have seen what I can do despite my, smallness. That's not enough for the court, though. I have to look the part too."

"Morinthe," He entreated. Solas finally let go of her hands only to cup her face in both of his. Thankfully he wasn't squeezing the lights out of her, however. "Would you like another story?"

Morinthe bit back, "I knew you were lying when you said you didn't have anymore…"

"It only just occurred to me." Solas sighed. He leaned away and relinquished her face. "There was a ruler, many ages ago in a kingdom that is long lost. Well, perhaps ruler is incorrect. They lead alongside their people, with wisdom, kindness, and respect."

"So where does the twist come in?" She asked, tone flat.

"They were scarcely five feet tall, and even that may be a generous estimate." He claimed.

It was Morinthe's turn to snort. Loudly. "Come on. Don't just start making things up for my sake, now."

"It is true." He asserted. Solas had that soft look in his eyes, so rare and wonderful. Like Prophet's Laurel, she ruefully thought. She was supposed to be focusing, wasn't she? "My point is that your physical form matters little ultimately. It is the force with which you hold yourself and command that will draw their respect in the long run, whatever first impression you may leave."

Morinthe smiled, and there it was. That powder puff pink feeling, like she was walking on air. Despite claiming to be a woman, she did feel like such a girl around him sometimes.

"You know, that dimple in your cheek isn't helping your predicament any." He chuckled.

"I don't know why I put up with this abuse." Morinthe huffed, and she moved to get up. Solas stopped her in her tracks when he wrapped an arm around her waist and dragged her giggling into his lap. "I do not have to stand for this! I am Andraste's chosen!"

Any other protests she could have made were rather muffled by his mouth however. As lovely as that was, she had to put an end to it rather quickly. "Solas, you don't want Dorian to drop a book on your head again, do you?"

He tilted his head to the side, mulling over the risks. Solas almost went for her again, but he instead simply gave her a brief peck. Morinthe relaxed into him, and he laid his hands comfortably over her stomach.

"Hey Solas?" she piped up after a few moments in peaceful silence.

"Hmm?" He was getting sleepy. She loved him when he was sleepy, about to drift off. Not to say she didn't love him regardless of how lucid he was, but he was always more affectionate when on the verge of a nap.

"Have I ever told you that I love you?"

"Once or twice," he replied, running a thumb across her navel.

"Only once or twice?" Morinthe tutted. "Oh no, that's a catastrophe. That's not nearly enough."

"Well," he murmured, voice rumbling against her spine. "Feel free to rectify that."

Morinthe sighed, kicking her airborne feet. "I suppose we'll have to be here for a while then."

"Pity." Solas whispered.

Much later, Madame Something or Other requested Morinthe's presence again. Apparently, the woman had forgotten to take one of her measurements. Josephine didn't have to look long to find her, but when she encountered the Inquisitor and her trusted advisor dozing in the Rotunda together, she unfortunately had to inform the seamstress that the Herald had more pressing matters at hand.

**Author's Note:**

> Just something short and sugar-sweet to give myself a break from the heavier writing. XD My poor little spazzy quizzy, what will we do with you?


End file.
